


Do Ya Wanna Touch Me

by angrypuppy



Category: JoJo no Kimyouna Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: M/M, NSFW, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:06:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrypuppy/pseuds/angrypuppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'll level: this fic is pointless pr0n. I believe this is set after the Pompeii incident. Abbachio gets to know Giorno a little bit better, with hints of Giorno's bloodline. My friend requested vampire GioGio fic (this is not really a vampire fic, but it's the closest you'll catch me getting... there's some blood). Embarrassing to me. Written as a gift for Youko Fujima back in the day, and she drew some really lovely pr0ny illustrations at the time which have vanished into the ether of the internets, and I will never write another like this again aaaah I feel so dirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do Ya Wanna Touch Me

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after the Gary Glitter song, since Joker-sama picked it for Giorno on her FST and he's certainly a little manskank in this. I spelled Abbacha's name with 2 Cs for some reason I don't recall anymore, since I wrote this a long time ago. I guess that was how we were spelling it then. Why is Fugo in this? WHY NOT. Anyway, THIS IS A PWP. It is strangely long for the genre because the whole first half was my brain refusing to write pr0n and trying to lengthen the setup FOR NO REASON, but it is a PWP nonetheless!! Eventually I forced my brain into writing the, uh, main scene (thanks to the inspiring standcest-drawing efforts of the adorable and awesome Nangke) so um. Yeah. Enjoy?!

"Abbacchio!" Fugo, having ascertained that Giorno wasn't going to die from his exposure to Purple Haze, knelt next to his fallen teammate.

He'd left Giorno behind in the plaza, still helplessly writhing on the ground in an unfortunately mesmerizing manner as Gold Experience painfully bulldozed antivenom through the boy's veins; hopefully there were no more enemy stand users in Pompeii.

"Fugo..." Abbacchio panted in agony. "My... hand... where is it?"

"Forget about that! Look at your fucking ARM! How the fuck did that happen?!" Fugo pressed his fingers thoughtfully to his forehead while he tried to figure out what sort of first aid he could administer, especially since his makeshift kit was half an hour away in the car.

"Cut it off... so I could send that damn kid the key... with my stand's hand..."

Fugo had known Giorno had somehow got hold of the key from Abbacchio, and he'd even seen Giorno getting the key from Moody Blues' detached hand... but in the excitement of the battle, he somehow hadn't realized Abbacchio had CUT OFF HIS OWN HAND to accomplish this.

"You are some kinda crazy," Fugo said admiringly, as he stood up and took off his slim black belt. His swiss-cheese trousers immediately sagged dangerously low around his bony hips; he didn't wear the belt just for fashion.

Abbacchio's eyes widened. "Why... are you taking off... your belt?"

"Relax, big guy, it's just a tourniquet." Fugo knelt next to Abbacchio again and pulled Abbacchio's empty sleeve over the stump, then looped the belt around Abbacchio's wrist; then he stood up, put his foot on the loop to hold it in place, and pulled as hard as he could to tighten it. Abbacchio moaned in pain. "Sorry," Fugo grunted, as he yanked the belt tighter and then pulled out his pocket knife and poked a new hole in it. "It's better than bleeding to death!"

After securing the makeshift tourniquet, Fugo looked around the area and spotted the severed hand lying several feet away; a smeared trail of blood indicated that Abbacchio had been trying to pull himself towards the battle in the plaza before becoming too weak. Fugo shook his head and picked up the hand. He wasn't sure what to do with it, so he jammed it into his pants pocket fingers-side down to worry about later.

Somehow he managed to pull the woozy Abbacchio to his feet; they slowly made their way back to Giorno, although by the time they reached the plaza, Fugo found himself basically carrying Abbacchio over his back.

Giorno was sitting against the wall, eyes closed, breathing deeply. He looked more or less normal, and Fugo marveled at how fast the boy healed. One sign of a powerful stand user...

A snake at Giorno's feet shifted uneasily as they approached, and Giorno opened his eyes. The snake shimmered golden for a moment before turning back into a chunk of the wall, and Giorno got to his feet, absently brushing dust from the seat of his pants.

"Is he all right?" Giorno asked, peering at Abbacchio.

"Of course he isn't," Fugo said. "He lopped off his hand! And he lost a lot of blood..."

"I feel... shitty..." Abbacchio panted. "Let's... get back to Buccellati..."

Giorno and Fugo both nodded; while they had no idea what, exactly, Bruno could do about this, it was obvious that he'd do SOMETHING. After all, it was Buccellati! Besides, they had retrieved the key; it was stupid to stay away from their friends any longer.

Giorno helped Fugo drag Abbacchio back to the car; once they got there, Giorno called Bruno on his cell phone (which he'd left in the car) and Fugo pulled out the small duffel bag that passed as their first aid kit and pondered what to do.

"Buccellati wants us to come straight back, and he said he'll take care of Abbacchio," Giorno reported. "He said to take back roads if we could to avoid more fights on the way..."

"Sounds good," said Fugo. "We'll get going as soon as I fix him up, then."

Fugo soaked a clean handkerchief from the kit in the remains of Abbacchio's bottled water from earlier. Then he then pulled the hand out of his pocket, wrapped it up, and put it in a zip-lock bag, which he handed to Giorno. He riffled through the bag and produced a roll of white bandages and a roll of duct tape; he unwrapped Abbacchio's arm, rinsed the wound with the remains of the water, and then proceeded to used the bandages and duct tape to wrap it all up again.

Abbacchio blacked out halfway through this process, although he'd woken up again by the time it was over. They managed to cram him into the car and ended up going back with Giorno driving and Fugo and Abbacchio in the back seat. Fugo had wedged himself into the driver's side corner of the seat, Abbacchio cradled in his arms; Fugo had taken it on himself to keep Abbacchio's arm elevated (with as little effort possible), so Abbacchio was sleeping fitfully against his chest and Fugo had belted their arms together and propped his elbow up on the seat. Fugo himself was having trouble staying awake; as soon as he'd rested for a moment, all the aches and pains of the battle they'd just gone through had made themselves known. He felt itchy from the dried blood and the day's heat, and miserable from his bruises and scrapes; he couldn't wait to get back and take a shower.

The heat...

"Giorno, stop at the first gas station or convenience store you see," Fugo said. "We need some ice and cold water, or Abbacchio's hand might not make it through this trip."

"All right, but it might be a while... we're on a back highway."

Twenty or thirty minutes later, the car came to a halt. Fugo came out of a hazy drowse when he felt the car stop, glanced out, and did a double take when he checked out the store's front window and saw a line of... dildos. A cheery-looking skeleton grinned at him from above the sex toys, a leather bustier strapped around its ribcage and studded strap-on belts around its pelvis, including a long, bright pink vibrator cocked at a jaunty angle.

"... Giorno, these aren't really the conveniences I meant," Fugo said.

"It's also a gas station," Giorno said defensively. "Look, we're taking the back roads so I can speed more and to avoid people, so there's not a lot of stuff out here... this is the first store I saw."

Fugo looked out the rear window. It WAS a gas station. The large sign over the pumps read: Piotr's Gas & Ass. They were in a rather questionable area, apparently. He looked around, but it was just a commercial area along the highway, and the few other stores in the area were all either closed or seemed even less likely to sell what they needed. The strip club next door certainly seemed to have less potential. He sighed.

"Fine, just get in there and get some ice."

Giorno returned ten minutes later with a sack of ice, a gallon jug full of cold water, and several clean cloths.

"Wow," said Fugo. "I'm surprised they had this kind of stuff..."

"They didn't," Giorno said, watching Fugo wrap Abbacchio's hand in wet, cold cloth before sticking it back in the zip-lock bag and tucking that into the ice. "Except the ice... which was free. But the guy in there was really nice when I asked if they had any water... I explained that my friend in the car had hurt himself really bad and he got all this stuff for me from the back."

"Oh... well, that was nice of him."

The rest of the drive was uneventful and as short as Giorno could make it, although the car they had rented was not exactly designed for zippy travelling. Abbacchio recovered somewhat after resting for the length of the drive, and once at the grape farm, he was able to walk in under his own power, his partners trailing behind with the sack containing the (now mostly-water) ice and hand.

Inside, everyone was waiting in the living room.

"Wow, you really did lose your hand!" Narancia said, bouncing up from his seat on the sofa.

"Yes," Abbacchio snapped, crossing the room and sinking into a chair. "Try it sometime! It's fun!"

"He didn't lose it," Fugo said, holding up the sack. "We still have it! It's just not attached to him anymore."

"Can you put it back on?" Narancia said. Bruno came and took the sack.

Fugo shrugged. "Well... sometimes you can reattach lost limbs... we'll see."

"What if it can't be reattached?"

"Well, then we'll get Abbacchio a hook!" Fugo grinned.

"Do you think this is funny?" Abbacchio groused, waving his stump at Fugo in irritation. Fugo started laughing.

"Step back, Narancia." Bruno was holding the unwrapped hand. "I think he'll be fine... Fugo, take that bandage off, would you? And Giorno, could you go get some hot water and towels and things?"

A few minutes later, everyone had assembled to watch Bruno zip Abbacchio's hand back on. Abbacchio's arm was lying on a table, Bruno holding the hand in place and staring at the wound grimly while his stand worked. Abbacchio, always pale, had gone a strange greenish-white with pain and nausea as Bruno, a look of deep concentration on his face, tried to zip things back together.

"Why does it take so long?" Narancia whispered to Fugo.

"He's trying to put together all the bones and veins and nerves and such inside," Fugo whispered back. "They're small and he can't see what he's doing, so it's probably pretty nerve-wracking..."

"Do you think Abbacchio's hand will work after this?" Giorno asked from Fugo's other side.

"Well, it's better than any surgery, in terms of the connection... after all, I think Sticky Fingers has a natural ability to put things together properly, so it's not like he needs to be a surgeon, and the zipper's not really there, so it'll heal well... They say you can reconnect a severed limb for a few hours after the fact, and after all, Abbacchio's a stand user, so he'll heal fast... I guess we'll see in a few days?"

Bruno finished a few minutes later with a final big zipper around Abbacchio's wrist and sat back with a sigh, looking drained. Abbacchio, who'd been trying to take deep breaths and hold still, finally relaxed and shuddered in a massive full-body twitch, then let his head drop on the table with a thunk.

Bruno wiped the blood off his hands with a damp towel. "Abbacchio, I've gotta tell the boss that we got the key and find out what our next orders are... but I don't really want to go anywhere with you and Fugo in bad shape. The enemies are only getting more and more difficult to deal with. My orders for both of you are to go to bed and rest until further notice... especially you, Abbacchio. We may have to move as soon as tomorrow. If I see either of you outside of your beds, I will kick your ass... understand?"

"What if we have to go to the bathroom?" Fugo asked.

Bruno gave him a narrow look. "Within reason, of course. Don't be silly. Now get your asses to bed. Giorno, Narancia, help Abbacchio upstairs. Mista, could you bring me the laptop? Thanks."

*** * * * ***

When Abbacchio woke up, it was dark; he vaguely recalled that his arm had hurt so badly that he'd felt like throwing up, and that Giorno and Narancia had more or less carried him up the stairs and let him fall on the bed.

He flexed his wrist slowly, carefully, and winced when a lance of pain shot through his hand and forearm; still, it didn't hurt anywhere near the way it had before, and he was pleased to notice that he could move his fingers a bit, though they felt numb and completely dead at the tips, and pain flashed through his wrist with every tiny motion. Still, it hadn't even been a day; he felt confident that Buccellati had done it right. The fact that he could already move his fingers was proof of that.

He lifted his hand to look at his wrist in the moonlight that was shining through the window; the zipper around his wrist glittered silver in the darkness. He twisted his wrist experimentally a few times, ignoring the pain; it seemed functional. Sticky Fingers was certainly amazing; he'd really thought his hand might be gone for good.

Something dark was seeping slowly from the zipper on the underside of his wrist... he put his other hand up to touch it and felt the slippery warmth of blood. Oops. Maybe testing it already hadn't been the best idea, although the zippers still felt secure...

"Stop moving your hand around," said someone, and Abbacchio jerked upright in shock and the sheet over him fell down... Around then, he noticed he wasn't wearing anything.

The bedside lamp flicked on, the low-wattage bulb casting a dim orange glow over the bed and leaving the back of the room in shadow. Giorno was standing by the light switch, hair glimmering dark gold in the lamplight.

"Buccellati told me to make sure you didn't start messing around with it, or trying to unzip it or something... he said it was a lot of work."

"I wasn't going to unzip it -- do you think I'm an idiot?" Abbacchio responded, annoyed. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been here all this time," Giorno said. He stepped over to a chair at the foot of the bed and sat down. "Buccellati told me to make sure you seemed to be recovering okay and to get you food and stuff when you woke up."

"Actually, I feel fine," Abbacchio said. "I mean, my arm still hurts and all, but other than that, I feel normal."

"He said you lost a lot of blood and we'd want to make sure you'd recovered..."

"I'm recovered as much as I'm gonna be," Abbacchio said. He swung his legs off the bed, the sheet still over his midsection, then paused. They'd even removed his underwear. "Why am I naked? Where are my pants? And where's Buccellati?"

"Well, we figured you wouldn't want to be all covered in blood and sweat when you woke up, so Narancia and I cleaned you off," Giorno said. "Your pants are right over there, and Buccellati's in bed. He also told me to tell you that he's sleeping next door and it's harder for him to monitor his stand when he's asleep, so you better stay within his range or your hand might drop off."

"What?" Abbacchio blinked and looked down at his bleeding wrist a bit uncertainly. "Well... can I at least go to the bathroom?"

"Be my guest, if you're not worried that it's down the hall," Giorno said. Abbacchio judged that putting his tight trousers on with only one hand would be a pain in the ass and got out of bed, resigned to going naked. He glared at Giorno as he walked past; who was this boy to be telling him what to do?

He stumbled once crossing the dark hallway; he still felt a little light-headed. Maybe he did need more sleep... his stomach growled, and he revised that. Maybe he just needed food. He hadn't eaten anything since the previous night.

When washing his hands, he noticed in the brightness of the bathroom light that his wrist was bleeding a lot more than before... probably because the bathroom was further from Bruno than his bedroom. He swore and wiped it the blood off with some toilet paper before retreating to his room, where Giorno was still sitting in the chair. Abbacchio crawled back into bed and pulled the sheet up over himself... he wasn't normally given to shyness, but something about the way Giorno eyed him when he came back in made him a little nervous.

"You're bleeding," Giorno said, his voice oddly strained.

"Yeah, I noticed." Abbacchio lifted his wrist; the blood was back to an acceptable slow seep, but his arm was still covered in it. "Go get me something to wipe this off with. And something to eat, I'm starving..."

Giorno returned with a damp towel and a bowl of thick minestrone soup a few minutes later. He brought them over to the side of the bed, paused, and then handed Abbacchio the soup to hold and took Abbacchio's wounded hand in one of his without a word, swabbing the blood off with the towel. Abbacchio wondered if it was just his imagination, or if Giorno's green eyes briefly glinted garnet red... probably just a trick of the light.

"That's okay, I can do it," Abbacchio said, looking for somewhere to set the soup down. "I don't need your help."

"And were you planning eat the soup with one hand?" Giorno asked.

"I'll just drink it out of the bowl," Abbacchio said, demonstrating.

He'd got about halfway through the soup when Giorno's elbow bumped the bowl, spilling soup all over Abbacchio's bare torso. It was not HOT, but Giorno had warmed it before bringing it up, and it wasn't exactly pleasant to have all over oneself either.

"... Sorry," said Giorno. He didn't sound particularly sorry, and Abbacchio ground his teeth.

"Just clean it up, would you?" Abbacchio handed Giorno the mostly-empty bowl and sat back against his pillow in annoyance, trying to keep the mess centered on his stomach. Giorno set the bowl on the floor and started wiping the soup off Abbacchio's stomach with the towel; as he leaned over to wipe on the far side of Abbacchio's ribcage, something small fell out of his pocket onto Abbacchio.

"Hey, Giorno," said Abbacchio, reaching under the boy to pick it up with his good hand, "You dropped your... er..." He blinked a few times at the label on the small plastic pouch. "Your... uh... cherry flavored lube."

Giorno took it from him without saying anything; was the boy blushing in the dim light? It was hard to tell.

"Why do you have that?" Abbacchio said, curiosity getting the better of him. Also, he was trying to ignore the flutters in his stomach; Giorno was swabbing a bit lower with the towel. Abbacchio firmly tried to shift mental gears, but the side of Giorno's head was right in front of his face and he'd suddenly noticed that Giorno smelled really good, and it was difficult to stop noticing something like that. Damn kid. Why did he have to smell so good?!

"When I went into that store to get the ice, the guy was so nice and helpful that I felt like I had to buy _something_ from him," Giorno said. "So I grabbed some of those since they were small and right up at the front..."

"What were you planning on doing with it?"

"I dunno... I guess I thought I'd find something to use it for."

Abbacchio was immediately sorry he'd asked, because rather than distracting him, all that came to mind was a disturbingly hot mental image of lonely Giorno finding something to use it for... He realized with alarm that he was getting aroused, and Giorno was still wiping up down by his crotch... he shifted uncomfortably and tried to pull the sheet up, but it was too late; Giorno had paused and it was obvious he'd seen his teammate's erection.

"Do you need a hand with anything else?" Giorno said, turning to flash a brief grin at Abbacchio. Abbacchio was startled, both because the sight of Giorno smiling was strange and because almost positive he hadn't imagined that flash of red in Giorno's eyes this time, when the lamplight had hit them at a certain angle... Not to mention the boy didn't exactly look _friendly_. More... hungry.

"No thanks!" He couldn't believe how embarrassed this kid was making him feel... but then, normally he wasn't naked in bed when people hit on him. He pushed Giorno away with the closest hand, which was unfortunately the injured one, and he winced as a spike of pain went through his whole forearm. Blood dribbled down from the zipper, a bit more than before; unless Bruno had just rolled over in his sleep, he must have pulled something loose. He swore and yanked his hand away, leaving a smear of crimson on Giorno's bare chest, where the heart-shaped gap in Giorno's jacket exposed what Abbacchio had not previously noticed but was starting to think was an indecent amount of skin.

Giorno stared down at the blood and then looked up at Abbacchio.

"Are you sure?" he said, and slid his hand down under the sheet.

Abbacchio stared at him in shock. "Get away!" he yelped, but although he put his (uninjured) hand to Giorno's shoulder, intending to shove the little punk away, he couldn't actually bring himself to do it.

"I'm supposed to help you with anything it might be hard to do with your hand hurt," Giorno said softly into Abbacchio's ear... Abbacchio shivered, feeling Giorno's breath stirring his hair.

"I really do not need help. Get off me. Now."

"Why don't you like me?" Giorno ignored Abbacchio's ineffective hand on his shoulder and crawled up onto the bed, straddling his teammate, his lips against Abbacchio's throat, his hand still busy beneath the sheet. It felt too good after the stress of the day, and Abbacchio gripped Giorno's shoulder helplessly, now no longer sure if he wanted to pull Giorno closer or fling him across the room...

"S-stop..." Abbacchio gasped out, and Giorno finally pulled his hand away, slowly, but he simply ran it over Abbacchio's abdomen, his light touch making Abbacchio's need even worse.

"Really, I want to know why you don't like me," Giorno whispered, as his mouth slid down Abbacchio's collarbone. He settled his pelvis against Abbacchio's, and Abbacchio could feel the teen's hard penis through the sheet, Giorno's slim body pressed up against his...

He swallowed and tried one more time to push Giorno away. "I don't like you because you're new and annoying," he said. "Don't take it personally."

"I keep trying to prove I'm useful," Giorno said, his lips moving against Abbacchio's chest. "At least admit I'm handy in a fight."

"You're..." Abbacchio's breath caught when Giorno's hand moved south again. "You're useful, okay, I admit it, so there's no... need... for... stop..."

Giorno slid his arm in between them and took a firm grip on Abbacchio's manhood; he rubbed the head slowly, his thumb sliding easily over sensitive skin that was wet with excitement.

"I'm not doing this to make you like me," Giorno mumbled, his lips busy on Abbacchio's neck; then he lifted his head and kissed his teammate, his tongue sliding like wet velvet along Abbacchio's lower lip. His eyes met Abbacchio's, and Abbacchio couldn't tell in the shadows what color they were. "I just felt like it." That grin again, unusual and maddening, and Abbacchio shivered because he wanted Giorno so badly all of a sudden.

He gave up any resistance and let Giorno make his way south, his hot mouth drifting down Abbacchio's torso as he wriggled backwards; he jammed a knee between Abbacchio's legs and separated them, and his mouth was hot and wet, his tongue all kinds of fulfilling...

After a few moments of this, and having determined that he couldn't take it much longer, Abbacchio grabbed Giorno by the jacket with his good hand, hauling the boy up to kiss him. He slid his hand through Giorno's soft hair, pulling out the tie that kept it in a braid, and when they broke apart, he unzipped Giorno's jacket and slid his hand inside, then slowly started peeling it off; Giorno helped him enthusiastically.

He's beautiful, Abbacchio thought when he'd got Giorno undressed and had pinned the boy down for a taste of his own teasing medicine. He didn't think it in a jealous or possessive way... it was simply something that was true: that golden hair, that classic face and lean, sculpted body that didn't look their age... and that striking pale birthmark on Giorno's shoulder, where it met the back of his neck, shaped so perfectly like a star that Abbacchio initially mistook it for a tattoo...

He didn't resist when Giorno pushed him off and shoved him up against the headboard and straddled him, or when Giorno coated them both with the (rather strongly-scented) cherry lube, or when Giorno sank down on top of him; he knew he'd probably regret it all later (maybe), but every time he met Giorno's eyes, he felt almost as if a magnet held him ever more tightly in its warm, dark, intangible grip, and he knew at that particular moment his body would do anything Giorno wanted. He almost felt he should be afraid... but it didn't seem to matter then, at all.

When the boy arched backwards in ecstasy, Abbacchio reached out to steady him with his injured arm, and he barely felt the pain when he clumsily grabbed at Giorno's back and pulled the boy back down onto him... his good hand slid roughly over Giorno's penis over and over until the boy came almost silently with a broken, shaky sigh, and it wasn't until after his own release that he noticed blood was smeared all over both of them, everywhere he'd groped at Giorno, all over the bed...

He examined his arm fearfully, then, but strangely, it actually hurt less than before, and his fingers seemed to move more easily... He wondered absently if it was some strange side effect of Giorno's company, or simply the natural healing of a stand user, but it didn't really matter.

Giorno was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his trousers back on. He stood up and cracked his neck, then turned back to Abbacchio, who was still eyeing his arm thoughtfully and also trying to decide how to explain the blood all over the sheets to Bruno.

"So... does this mean you like me now?" Giorno said, pulling his hair back into a loose ponytail. His brief smile this time was crooked, and his eyes were the deepest green Abbacchio had ever seen, and totally unlike those of the boy he'd just been molested by... some difference had come over Giorno in the last few minutes, and Abbacchio had the sudden impression that this Giorno cared what the answer was, no matter how casually the question was framed.

A flash of memory, a conversation he'd once had with Bruno; Bruno had been joking about how The Family was his only family, but Bruno's wry smile when he said it made his friend realize that it might not be entirely a joke. Another flash, Narancia's dark eyes and how he was always tagging along behind them like he was afraid to be left alone for a few hours. When the people you worked with were all you had, and you wanted someone to give a shit about you...

"If you're going to take a shower, bring me back some clean towels to get all this blood off with," Abbacchio said, looking away from those terribly green eyes.

"So you still hate me, then?"

Abbacchio, still uncertain of just what sort of madness had come over them both, rubbed his hand over his face and sighed.

"... I don't hate you," he said, finally. "I have to get used to people, okay? Stop harassing me, it's irritating."

"Sorry." Giorno still didn't sound particularly sorry, but Abbacchio didn't feel as annoyed by it now, somehow. "I'm gonna go take that shower, then."

Giorno turned around and marched out of the room, and Abbacchio regretted not asking for some clean sheets, also. He sank back against his pillow and realized he was exhausted; the kid had really taken it out of him.

When Giorno got back, clean and steaming from his shower, with an armful of towels and a bucket of hot water, he found his teammate deeply asleep, but with a much more peaceful expression than he'd had that afternoon. Abbacchio didn't wake up, even when Giorno flipped him over to wipe his back clean. Not even when Giorno pressed his lips to Abbacchio's forehead, and whispered in his ear, "I'm glad you don't hate me."

When morning came, Bruno stopped by to check on Abbacchio's wrist.

He was slightly horrified by the state of the sheets.

 **THE END**  
________________________________________________________________

 

Sorry about the ending; I couldn't think of anything and just kept writing and writing and then I was like "this sucks, the fic IS OVER ALREADY" so I deleted all that stuff (several paragraphs!) and just left this as the last sentence... I know it's abrupt so uh, yeah. @_@ Argh =///=


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